


I Choose to Sit Here Next to You and Wave

by Chash



Series: I've Had a Really Nice Time, But My Dogs Need to Be Fed [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 11:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4219683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake is either patient or stubborn, depending on how you look at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Choose to Sit Here Next to You and Wave

**Author's Note:**

> There are fewer cats than I planned in this. Sorry about that. Still taking titles from The Weakerthans.

Bellamy never would have considered himself a patient person, not until he gets the job at the animal shelter. And even then, he doesn't think _patient_ is the right word, not exactly. But he knows how to take his time with the animals, knows how to wait for them to get used to him, to coax them into trust.

"You are one stubborn asshole, Bellamy Blake," Miller tells him, as he's attempting to get the terrifying ginger cat he's named Princess to let him feed her, and Bellamy thinks, yeah, that's probably right.

Stubborn is like patient's jerk cousin, and he's a lot more comfortable with that; he might not be a saint, waiting forever on faith, but if he wants something, he will fucking work for it.

*

"I used your pickup line," Miller tells him. He's at the fridge getting juice, which means three of the cats and one of the dogs are watching him, hoping he has food for them. Zephyr is still on Bellamy's lap, purring, because she loves him best.

"I gave you a pickup line?"

"I told him he should date me so you could continue trying to flirt with his roommate."

"Not much of a line. You should have asked if he was wearing moon pants, that's my favorite."

"It is a genuine miracle you have ever gotten laid," Miller says, handing him a beer and sitting down next to him on the couch. 

"It is not. Look at this." He gestures to his face. "I'm a gift."

Miller snorts. "So you keep telling me."

"So did my earnest plea for more time with his roommate win him over?"

"I think he wanted to go out with me anyway," says Miller. "But you do have his blessing."

"Awesome. Any words of wisdom? Tips on what I should do? Did he tell you her favorite flower?"

"He thinks she likes you," says Miller, and Bellamy grins.

*

"Do you have puppies?"

It's eight a.m., and the shelter isn't even open yet. Clarke must have broken in, because Bellamy knows he locked the gate after himself. She's wearing scrubs, her hair is coming out of her bun, and she looks like she hasn't slept in days.

"Good morning to you too," he says, but he knows he sounds more concerned than offended. "Did you climb over the fence?"

"Your car was here."

"What were you going to do if it wasn't?"

"Sleep in the parking lot, probably."

Bellamy stops resisting his urge to take care of her; he puts his arm around her, under the pretext of taking her to the back room, where they keep the coffee. She even lets herself lean into his side. She's not particularly good at not liking him. 

"Bad day at the office?"

"I'm doing an ER rotation," she says. "There was a staffing issue, so I was there for like thirty hours." She bites her lip. "A guy died."

He squeezes her shoulder. "It's an emergency room. People are going to die."

"I know," she snaps. "I just--I needed to see a puppy. Not that I don't love the cats, but--" He presses a mug of coffee into her hands, and she smiles, grateful, and takes a small sip. "Puppies always feel so happy and alive, you know? Half the time when I try to hug the kittens, they just decide they want to yowl and run away."

"I know," he says. "We don't have any really small puppies, but I guarantee you I can find a bunch of dogs who will be excited to see you."

She smiles again, and Bellamy feels stupid with how much he wants to make this girl happy. He doesn't tend to be attracted to people like this; he's always been protective, knows he sees people who look like they need looking after and can't help trying to take care of them. It's usually more of a fraternal thing. But Clarke is this bizarre combination of completely (intimidatingly) self-sufficient and heart-breakingly melancholy. He wants to spend his whole life making sure she smiles and eats three square meals a day.

"I'm not keeping you from getting work done, am I?"

He laughs. "I'm glad you waited to ask that until after you broke in."

"I would have just called, but I don't have your number."

"Well, I will give you my number, and then you can come and help me with the dogs. They need food and exercise and love."

She shoots him a deeply distrustful look. "Is that really what you're supposed to be doing, or are you just being nice to me?"

"Caring for animals is a legitimate part of my job," he assures her. "Giving you my number isn't, but I think it's probably allowed."

"Thanks," she says, soft and mostly to her coffee.

He slings his arm around her again, affectionate. "You're doing me a favor, really. Who wants to sit outside on a spring morning and play fetch with a bunch of lonely dogs? I would have been miserable."

"You're right," she says, smiling. "When you put it like that, I'm a saint."

She ends up falling asleep with one of their oldest dogs, Madeline, resting her head in her lap. Bellamy has to keep sticking his head outside, just to look at them.

Miller shows up for his shift at noon, and Bellamy says, "Your boyfriend's roommate broke in, demanded I let her see a puppy, and fell asleep in the yard. Can you handle it here for an hour while I get her some food and take her home?"

Miller glances outside, like he doesn't really believe Bellamy. "She came here?"

"She needed a puppy," Bellamy says, but what he means is, _she likes me_.

"Fine," says Miller. "She looks awful, and I know Monty and Jasper aren't home. I've got this, don't come back."

"You're a good guy, _Nathan_ ," he says, and Miller rolls his eyes.

"Just go before I change my mind."

*

He learns about Clarke like he's doing a puzzle, slotting in pieces when he can. It's not that she's private, exactly, just guarded. She'll always answer questions, but he can tell if he asks too many, he'll scare her off. So he takes the scraps she offers and throws his own back, does his best to put together this curious girl.

"My best friend had a dog," she remarks in the car. It's an odd statement, and Bellamy doesn't respond, wanting to see of she'll go on. "His name was Wells. My friend, not the dog. He, um." She tucks her hair back. "My mom's allergic to, like, everything, so we never had pets. I just shared with Wells. We dated for three weeks in high school, and then he died."

It's an alarming enough twist that he can't keep quiet. "He _died_?"

She looks kind of smug, like she got one over on him. But she looks a little broken open, too. "Yeah, he died. Something with his heart, they think. The doctors were never really sure about cause of death."

"Jesus. How old were you?"

"Seventeen."

He nods. "I was eighteen when my mom died. But we saw that one coming. Cancer."

"Do you think that's better?"

"I don't know," he says. "Logistically, it was. I had a lot to do. My little sister--you haven't met her yet, but you will--she was thirteen, and I had to figure out how to get custody of her. It was a lot easier to have my mom to help out. And we got to say goodbye. But it's complicated. It was like we were mourning for years before she died. It would have been nice to just be happy." He glances away from the road to see her already studying him. He offers a smile. "I think it all sucks, honestly."

She smiles back. "Probably."

"You think you would have wanted time to prepare?"

"Not for Wells. I mean--I just want to have had more time with him. I don't need the time we had to be different. But my dad died when I was off at college. I wish I'd known so I could have been there. I hadn't even talked to him in a week."

"So that's what you think about?" he asks, pulling into the grocery store. "When you lose someone in the ER."

"Yeah," she says. She gives him a sharp look, like she's offended he figured it out, but all she says is, "Why are we here?"

"You need food, and you never have anything at your house. Every time I try to find a snack it's just frozen meat and protein bars."

"You don't have to buy me food."

"I'm not, I'm poor as shit. You're buying yourself food, and I'm graciously cooking it for you."

She laughs. "You cook?"

"I raised my sister for five years. I had to cook. Prepared food is expensive."

She follows him around the grocery store, grabbing a few things for herself and critiquing his selections. He's not a master chef or anything, but he's competent, and he just tells her to have faith.

"I'm trying to impress you," he points out, because she definitely knows that. It feels safe to say. "I'm not going to cook something shitty."

"Good point," she says. "It would _really_ impress me if you made me cookies."

He grabs flour without missing a beat. "What kind of cookies?"

She bites her lip, clearly trying not to smile. "Can you do the kind with M&Ms?"

"I'm awesome. I can do anything." He grins at her. "Go get butter."

*

She frets about leaving him alone in the kitchen for about five minutes, until he figures out that she's worried about being _impolite_ , and he breaks out laughing.

"Shut up!" she says, but she's grinning too. "You're a guest, dickwad!"

"I'm a _friend_ ," he says. "And I invited myself over, so you don't have to feel like you're being rude ignoring me. Just go shower or sleep or whatever and I'll get you when food's ready."

"Don't you have a job?"

"Miller relieved me. He thought you looked like shit too. We voted you shouldn't be left alone."

"Just what I like to hear." She worries her lip, but finally says, "Fine, I'll shower. Don't burn my house down."

Princess comes to watch him cook, which mostly involves her sitting on the part of the counter he's not using, glaring at him, and trying to take swipes at him when he goes to the fridge.

"You don't have to hate me, you know," he tells the cat. "We should be friends. We're on the same side. I think she's the best thing ever too."

He makes pasta with meatballs, and cuts up some carrots and apples for good measure. He even slathers some peanut butter on celery, and gets the cookie dough done to cook after lunch. It's honestly pretty similar to what he used to make Octavia when she was a kid, but at least it's healthy and Clarke will get a full meal including all the food groups. He's kind of worried she survives on protein bars and spite.

She comes down as he's draining the pasta. Her hair is curling wet around her shoulders, and she's wearing a faded blue _Rainbow Brite_ shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. It's nice in a way that has almost nothing to do with his attraction to her; he's just glad she seems comfortable and relaxed. Princess goes over to rub up against her legs, purring, and Clarke picks her up. Bellamy still half expects her to get her face ripped off when she does that, but Princess just nuzzles her face like she is the happiest cat in the history of the world. He'd say he doesn't get it, but, well, he and Princess do have basically the same opinion of Clarke.

"Oh my god, is this celery and peanut butter? I haven't had celery and peanut butter since I was ten."

"It's good for you. Protein."

She puts down the cat and comes over to stand beside him instead, not quite touching, but close. "And spaghetti and meatballs. You're cute."

"I try. You're the one who wanted M&M cookies. I thought we were doing comfort food."

She gives him a genuine smile. "This looks really nice. Thanks, Bellamy."

"Don't thank me until you've eaten it," he says, but he can't keep a smile off his own face. "Get yourself whatever you want to drink and sit down."

"What do you want?"

"Just water."

She pours water for him and milk for herself and sits down at the table. "I should thank you even if the food sucks," she says. "I literally broke into your workplace and demanded you take care of me."

"You actually just demanded I bring you to puppies," he points out. "But it's fine." He puts the pasta and meatballs on the table and offers her a smile. "You came because you knew I'd help you out, whether you asked me to or not."

"And because you had puppies."

"And because I had puppies," he agrees. It's not like she denied the rest, after all.

She does the dishes and he gets the cookies in the oven, and then they settle in on the couch to wait for the cookies to be done. Clarke channel surfs until she finds something they can agree on watching ( _Men in Black_ ), and when she sits down again, she leaves two inches between them--enough space they aren't touching, but a lot less than he expected.

"You know I'm not--" she starts. "I'm kind of a mess."

"I noticed."

She snorts. "Thanks."

He shrugs. "You're cool."

She does shift closer then, leans against him, and he puts his arm around her shoulders, trying to keep his heartrate under control. She's really fucking tired; even if she wants to make out, he probably shouldn't. "My boyfriend in college, he--didn't cheat on me, but he cheated on his girlfriend with me. I don't know if that's worse. She had more emotional investment, but I felt used. We've tried to figure it out, but we just decided that it sucked both ways and he was a dick to us."

"Sounds like it."

"And then I dated this girl after junior year, over the summer. She--I dunno. She was pretty angry and bitter about the whole romance thing too, so I thought she'd be good. Like, we both suck at relationships, we've both been hurt, but we like each other, so that's a good foundation, right? I told her everything and then when we broke up she threw it all back at me. So I just figured I'd be done. With all of it."

"I probably would have too." He wets his lips. "I had this girlfriend when my mom died. It was--I was in college then, it was before I dropped out. And I was probably a dick to her, because she wanted to help, but she didn't really know how. I didn't know what to ask for, and she didn't know what to offer. It was a mess, and the breakup was--really fucking bad. So I just did casual stuff for a long time, when I had a night to myself. And I thought it was good, at the time, but--I don't think that's me."

"No girlfriend since your mom died?" she asks, sounding surprised.

"Nothing serious. Hadn't met the right girl."

"And you think I'm the right girl," she says, soft.

He squeezes her shoulder. "I like you, yeah."

"And if I'm not ready for anything yet?"

"Then I still like you. And I still want to hang out."

She snuggles closer, almost shyly. He rests his cheek against her hair.

"What if I'm never ready?"

"Then I'll still hang out. Probably move on at some point." She snorts, and he grins and squeezes her again. "Sorry, did you want to hear I'd wait forever?"

"No. That always seems kind of weird, honestly. Forever's a long time. Whenever people say that in movies I'm like, no way, in ten years, you are definitely going to be married someone else if she isn't into you."

He laughs. "Yeah, exactly. I'll wait a while, and we'll see how it goes."

They eat cookies and watch _Men in Black_ , and then he leaves so Clarke can get some sleep. She kisses him on the cheek and says, "Thanks," and he honestly might wait forever, but he hopes he won't have to find out.

*

Three weeks later, he's playing darts with Clarke's best friend Raven (the guy her ex was cheating on, he discovered, which--Clarke has some weird friendships, seriously), and when he wins, she marches over to Clarke and declares, "Your boyfriend is a fucking cheater."

Bellamy winces, and Clarke scowls. "Not her boyfriend," he says, before Clarke can.

"Yeah, and don't even get me started on _that_ ," she says.

"You started that," says Clarke, glancing at Bellamy. Things have been different since they talked. Easier. He's pretty sure the conversation never would have happened if she wasn't exhausted and emotional from a hard shift, but now that it has, she seems happier, less tense around him. He feels better too, knowing where they stand. They're both more physically affectionate, and even though he can't do everything he wants, it's still nice. It still feels like the beginning of something, even though it might not be.

"Also, I'm just better than you are at darts," Bellamy says, trying to change the subject, but Clarke and Raven are glaring at each other, and he's not sure this is something he can derail. It might not even be about him.

"So, if he's _not_ your boyfriend, can I have him?" Raven asks. 

Bellamy's going to object, but Clarke gets there first. "You already have a boyfriend!"

"I could probably talk Wick into a threesome."

"That's not really--" Bellamy starts, and Raven glares at him.

"I'm trying to help you, shut up."

"I don't need help, I'm fine."

"You're both morons," she says. She takes Clarke's beer and flounces off, and Bellamy leans against the bar next to Clarke.

"Sorry about that."

"You did literally nothing."

"Still sorry it happened."

"Raven isn't going to screw up your chances with me," she says. She scowls down at her beer. "I _like you_. I am being stupid, it's not like she's wrong. I'd absolutely be jealous if you got another girlfriend, which is really unfair. If I'm not going to date you, I can't be pissed someone else is." She leans into his side, and he kisses her hair. 

"I'm not getting another girlfriend any time soon."

"Miller said this was how you got Princess to let you feed her. Just hung out until she got used to you."

"Did Miller seriously compare you to your asshole cat?" he asks, frowning. "Also, she still doesn't actually like me, so I can't even say it worked."

"He was kind of drunk. And I asked if this was how you treated my asshole cat, so I set myself up for it." 

He snorts. "Well, so long as you asked."

"I don't know how to be sure about this stuff anymore," she says, like she's picking up the thread of a conversation he hadn't heard. "About people."

"I can't promise I'm not going to die on you," he tells her. "I can promise I don't have any other girlfriends, I'd never cheat on anyone, and I'm not the kind of guy who gets spiteful after a breakup. I can be an asshole, but I'm not that kind of asshole. I don't like hurting people." He smiles, wry. "I do it, but I don't like it. And I don't do it on purpose. Not like that."

She smiles. "I know."

"So if I break your heart, it'll be in some new, shitty way." That gets her laughing, and he smiles too. "I'll make sure it's cool."

"Like, get a motorcycle, jump it through a flaming hoop, and yell, _I'm moving to Sweden for work_?" she offers.

"Yeah. The booming Swedish animal shelter business."

She looks up at him, considering, and then slides her hand into his hair. There's something calculating in her eyes, like she's working out a problem, and he just waits, lets her lean up and kiss him. She's slow and tentative, like she thinks something is going to go wrong, and Bellamy keeps his own response just as easy, letting her get used to him. It's not the best kiss of his life, but he's never felt the warm bloom of possibility in his chest before, like something amazing is going to happen really, really soon.

She pulls back, gives him a critical look. "Okay, let's do that again, but _good_ this time."

He's laughing as he kisses her again, all warmth and affection and happiness, and when she throws her arms around him and kisses back, it's pretty much perfect.

*

Monty stops by the shelter the next day.

"You know we've got a signed statement from you saying you aren't getting any more cats hanging up on the wall, right?" Bellamy asks him. "Jasper got it framed. You're not getting any more cats on my watch."

"I'm not here for a cat. I want to talk about Clarke."

There's been a stupid grin just waiting to break out on his face all morning, and as soon as he hears her name, he can't hold it back anymore. "Clarke?"

"Oh god, I don't even know why I'm having this conversation, you look like cartoon birds are going to start flying around your head any minute. But, whatever, I'm already here." He puts on his sternest expression, which--Monty is awesome, but intimidation is not really something that's in his wheelhouse. "Clarke's my friend, and you better not hurt her."

"Are we having that conversation? Seriously?"

Monty crosses his arm, looking stern. "Look, she's had a tough time with dating. I don't know the whole story--"

"I do," says Bellamy, and Monty stares at him. He shrugs. "She told me."

"She told you?"

"I respect your desire to do your best friend duty, but yeah. She and I have actually talked about this."

"Huh. I didn't know Clarke talked about this stuff."

His stupid grin is back. "I guess she likes me."

Monty glares. "Yeah, okay, you're adorable. Don't hurt her."

"The last thing I want to do is hurt her." He cocks his head. "Did she give Miller a lecture when you guys started dating?"

"No, because we are adorable, fluffy kittens. Clarke is an angry ginger cat with half an ear. If we get hurt, we'll be fine. But she's--"

"She's fine," he says, surprising himself with it. "She's tough. And she's ready." He grins at Monty. "But seriously, I appreciate your concern. I'm not going to hurt her. And you better not hurt Miller, either."

"I don't know why I thought I could do this," Monty says, slumping down on the desk and burying his face in his arms. "I'm not this guy, and you're totally in love with Clarke anyway, so--"

"You did fine," Bellamy says, patting his shoulder. "But I already had this conversation with her, and she's a lot scarier than you are."

"I know," he says, miserably. "I am happy for you. Can I go look at kittens?"

"Only if you promise to not try to talk me into letting you adopt one."

He pauses. "Maybe puppies would be safer."

Bellamy snorts. "Yeah, that sounds like a much better idea."

*

Clarke comes over for dinner the next night; Miller goes to hang out with Monty (acting like he's doing them a big favor, like he _doesn't_ want to have dinner with his boyfriend), so they have the apartment to themselves, and Clarke starts the evening by dragging him to the couch to make out for a solid fifteen minutes.

"I'm making you dinner," he protests mildly, as she fumbles to get her hands under his shirt. "With cookies and everything."

"Awesome. Sounds great." She pulls the shirt up and off and grins at him. "It can wait, right?"

"Yeah," he says, kissing her again, of course. "It can wait."

**Author's Note:**

> Bellamy and Miller's four cats are named for the four chief winds in Greek mythology (Boreas, Zephyrus, Notos, Eurus); their dogs are the Gemini twins, Castor and Pollux.


End file.
